The Completely Honest Diary of a Liar
by Kat253ox
Summary: Lily Evans lies. She doesn't know why, but when she opens her mouth, the truth is the farthest thing from what spills out. When will she realise that she's lying even to herself? I suck at summaries, but please R&R. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I obviously am not J.K. Rowling, because if I was, I wouldn't be writing on fanfiction, I'd be publishing this and selling millions of copies of it in hundreds of different languages. Therefore, now that we've established that, nothing that you recognise in this story is my own.**

**The (Completely Honest) Diary of a Liar.**

**Summary: **Lily Evans lies. She doesn't know why, but when she opens her mouth, the truth is the farthest thing from what spills out. When will she realise that she's even lying to herself?

**Chapter one**

1st September

Lily Evans, tall, slim blonde, standing to attention at 5'11", at your service. Stunningly good-looking, with that wonderful big-brown-eyes-and-blonde-hair combination that is God's compensation for all of the troubles he loaded upon man. I mean, compared to world poverty, heartbreak, and sickness, the idea of the loss of one of the most classically attractive looks ever to have been wished upon humans seems just, well, devastating. As I said, gorgeous, with a slim figure, and legs up to my eyes. But nothing more than average in the brains department. I mean, I can do your basic charms – levitation, summoning, banishing, etc – but anything more difficult than that makes my brain feel like it's being wrung out. And don't even get me started on the disaster that is me in the potions classroom…

No, no, no. The only reason I'm writing this diary is to be completely and utterly honest for once. Not a good start. Eugh, why is it so difficult to tell the truth? Even when it's just to a _book_, for crying out loud!

Right, let me introduce myself again. Lily Hannah Evans. I'm currently slouched in one of the seats on the Hogwarts Express, writing this diary, while my friends play a noisy game of Exploding Snap, but if I were to stand up straight, I'd probably measure around 5'6". My hair is not blonde, nor are my eyes a deep, drownable-in, brown, as I'd so like them to be. Christine Turner has eyes just like that, and with her cropped, blonde hair, and slim silhouette, it's no wonder James Potter's dating her.

Did I just write that? I'm not sure why I did, because it's not as if I care in the slightest what James Potter does with his life, or, more relevantly to the subject, his hands. Truly, I don't. And I'm being honest here.

I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, my not-blonde hair, and my not-brown eyes. Well, if you took Christine's hair, and set it on fire, then you'd get an idea of the colour of my long, unruly hair. We'd also see how much James Potter liked her with no hair and a blistered scalp. My eyes, on the other hand, seem to put people in mind of forest glens, and park lawns on a summer's day. I'm not sure why, as I myself think of Christmas trees when I look at my red hair and green eyes. James Potter once compared the combination to strawberries, and through my customary glares, I asked him, "And what, exactly, do you mean by that, Potter?" He replied that my eyes reminded him of the green stalks you find on strawberries, and my 'curls', as he described the mess I like to call hair, of the red fruit. Quite sweet, actually. Strawberries, not James Potter's compliments. Or insults. However you see them. I view them as insults, personally.

I suppose I ought to go down to the Prefects' carriage, and supervise the new prefects, being as we're about to set off for Hogwarts. And because I've been appointed Head Girl. Eeeeeeeep! :D

Not that I'm excited, or anything. Because responsibility is actually kind of lame, when you think about it.

But it's still, ultimately, a huge compliment. One about which I am (if I'm being honest, which I am in this diary) very excited. I mean, honoured. Hmmm.

Anyway, I'll just pop off the train to give my mum a last kiss goodbye, and to stem her tears at the fact that she's going to have to live with Tuney, without me, for another term, and then down to the Prefects' carriage.

**A.N.: Okay, so this is the first chapter, obviously. If anybody likes it, then please review, and I'll continue it.  
-Kat253ox**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. Zero. Nil. Zilch. It belongs to the genius that it J.K. Rowling. And, I think, Warner Bros. Although I'm not sure about the technicalities of that… The point is, it's not mine.**

**The (Completely Honest) Diary of a Liar.**

**Summary: **Lily Evans lies. She doesn't know why, but when she opens her mouth, the truth is the farthest thing from what spills out. When will she realise that she's even lying to herself?

**Chapter two**

2nd September

Guess who my fellow Head is? Yup, you got it. James bloody Potter. How _he_ was chosen to be Head Boy, I'll never know. To prove my point, I've written a list of reasons why he _shouldn't_ have got the position.

Number one. He's an arrogant toe-rag. Need I explain this one? I think not.

Number two. He isn't even slightly responsible. I mean, would you call it responsible to randomly hex any old Slytherin in the corridors? Or, in this case, one particular Slytherin. No matter how much that particular Slytherin deserves it, I still can't say that it's a good thing to send jinxes his way every time he comes into sight.

Number three. He wasn't a prefect – Remus was my fellow Gryffindor prefect, and although it's surprising that any of the Marauders got selected for that role, Remus is, undoubtedly, the most responsible, and the nicest, of the four of them. I mean, when presented with James Potter, the arrogant toe-rag, Sirius Black, the 'handsome' womanizer, and Peter Pettigrew, the somewhat pathetic tag-along whom the other three seem to like for some reason, who wouldn't pick Remus Lupin to be prefect?

Number four. He's going out with Christine Turner. Well, less going out with, and more sticking-tongues-down-each-other's-throats-and-putting-their-hands-in-innappropriate-places-in-the-middle-of-the-common-room-in-front-of-terrified-first-years. That is, in my book, the very epitome of irresponsibility. And tastelessness. And disgustingness. Is 'disgustingness' even a word? Well even if it isn't, you get my drift.

Number five. The two heads are never from the same house. I mean, this is the first time it's happened in two hundred and forty seven years. I looked it up.

Number six. The two heads have to cooperate. And to cooperate, it's nearly always necessary that they like each other. Which we don't. Unless you count his unhealthy fixation with me in earlier years (a dead and gone obsession. Long gone. And I don't care. In fact, I'm glad that he's stopped asking me out at every available occasion. Definitely. Honestly. Truly.), which I don't. Even if you do count that, doesn't it stand for anything that I don't like him? My feelings about him are more than dislike, in actual fact. More like despise. No, stronger. Hatred.

Number seven. He's **James Bloody Potter**. Isn't that enough of a reason for him not to be Head Boy?

Apparently not. Apparently, Professor Dumbledore thinks that we will, in his words, 'work well together'. In the sense of cooperation. Not as in a relationship. Because that would be weird – Professor Dumbledore thinking about how well James and I would work in a relationship. The answer, in case you were wondering, is not at all well. Because of the above numbers six, one, two, and four. Not that number four is the reason why James and I are not in a relationship. Because it isn't.

And on that note, the quietness that has been this Sunday morning comes to an end. I know, how lucky to have a the whole common room almost empty on a Sunday? Too bad James Potter's in here. It's been him, two intertwined sixth years, and me alone in the common room this fine morning. Joy. Although he's been surprisingly calm, just writing something, and sneaking the odd glance at me. Glances which I noticed, not because I was glancing at him, but because I was glaring at the snogging sixth years, wishing they'd stop.

**A.N.: **This update came impressively quickly, if you ask me. Like, within the same twenty-four hours. Too bad I'm far from being able to guarantee the same speed in future updates.  
Enjoy. And show your enjoyment by reviewing.  
-Kat253ox


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.:** I have edited some things in chapter two, in order for them to tie up with this chapter more. So please re-read that chapter before you read this (otherwise you'll be left wondering why there are two Mondays in a row…).

**Disclaimer: If you cannot tell that this was not written by J.K. Rowling, then you clearly do not deserve to call yourself a fan of hers. So just click that back button right now. That's right. (Just kidding, please read it anyway. It isn't the real thing, but I think – hope – that it's worth reading!)**

**The (Completely Honest) Diary of a Liar.**

**Summary: **Lily Evans lies. She doesn't know why, but when she opens her mouth, the truth is the farthest thing from what spills out. When will she realise that she's even lying to herself?

**Chapter three**

3rd September

Monday morning. It's a good job I'm such a morning person. I mean, how awful would it be to have woken late, thrown on some robes (which I think are the same ones I wore yesterday and Saturday, judging by the faint aroma about them), and dashed down to the Great Hall to see that I had almost missed the last morsels of breakfast on the Gryffindor table? Just terrible. And the looks I've been getting from my fellow seventh years give the impression that I may have forgotten to brush my hair on my way down. Which cannot be a good thing, seeing as it is unruly at its best. At least I can fix that easily – I keep forgetting that I'm back at Hogwarts now, so I can use magic whenever I want! Well, if I'm being a responsible Head Girl, I should really say not in the corridors, or anywhere outside of classes, I think (note to self – look up that rule so as to appear more responsible and knowledgeable). Not that I care what other people think about me. I mean, I've proved that by appearing in public looking as I do this morning. But it can't be a bad thing if I learn a few of the most commonly broken rules, so I can set a good example to the younger students, and get in Pringle's good books. Merlin knows that if I were the caretaker, I'd have better things to worry about than use of magic in corridors, but that seems to be all Pringle cares about…

But back to the topic of mornings – I must give Alice and/or Julie the password to the Heads' common room, and then to my dormitory, so that they can come and arouse me from my dream-filled slumber (scratch that, my sleep is completely dreamless. No dreaming going on in this girl's head) in the mornings, should I not appear at breakfast. That's not a bad idea, actually. They could come and wrestle me from my blankets on the way back from breakfast. And if they so happened to bring with them a few slices of hot buttered toast with marmalade – or, even better, Scotch pancakes with maple syrup – and some coffee, then that would be just marvellous. Hogwarts' pancakes really are the best I've ever tasted (but don't tell my father that – he prides himself on his pancakes). Not that I'm sitting here with an entire plateful of them in front of me. I mean, what self-respecting girl would do that? Certainly not Christine Turner – she's picking at a banana, and sipping pumpkin juice. But I honestly haven't the self-restraint to eat just fruit for breakfast. Don't get me wrong, I love fruit, and vegetables, and all of those other good-for-you foods. But the house elves have slaved away over these pancakes, and I wouldn't want their hard work to go to waste.

Right, Alice and Julie are returning from their bathroom trip now. Must be pleasant to them, so that they feel remotely inclined to come and wake me every morning. And, sadly, being pleasant to them means stopping writing, and starting being attentive.

Wait, they've been waylaid by McGonagall, who seems to be handing something out. Oh, I completely forgot. First Monday back. That means timetables. And timetables are the responsibility of… Head Girl and Boy! Crap. Not a good start. Where the hell… Merlin's beard, James is already up there, distributing timetables to the heads of houses. Well, I certainly didn't expect for him to be the responsible one, and me the slacker. Why is he struggling so much? Surely they haven't piled _that_ many timetables on him? Oh, good Merlin. He's doing my half as well. Well bless his soul. I mean, that was unnecessarily nice of him. I mean, he's obviously trying to get in somebody's good books, and to show me up at the same time. He's looking for me someone. Probably Christine. Nope, he's looking at me. And grinning, and shaking his head. He's teasing me for being irresponsible. I mean, mocking me. How mean.

Must go and help him. I mean, do my duty as Head Girl.

**A.N.: **Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you very much to those who reviewed the last few chapters – I really appreciate constructive criticism. I also want to thank Elless, not only for the constructive reviews, but also for prompting me to update! Sorry it's been such a long time. I'll try to improve on this in the future. Now review, review, review.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I am just taking the templates that J.K. Rowling left us with of these characters, and building on them in entirely my own way. Therefore, none of these characters/places/ideas is mine.**

**The (Completely Honest) Diary of a Liar.**

**Summary: **Lily Evans lies. She doesn't know why, but when she opens her mouth, the truth is the farthest thing from what spills out. When will she realise that she's even lying to herself?

**Chapter four**

7th September

What a week. I (naïvely) thought that it wasn't physically possible to be assigned more homework, or to be more pushed for time in which to do it, than in 6th year. I have now officially entered farther into the realms of being wrong than I have ever ventured before. Seriously, Lily Evans is _never_ wrong. Never, ever. I also never lose, but that's another matter for another day. The only (one of the only) thing that I'm better at than being right is convincing other people that I'm not wrong, even when I am. Not that that has ever happened before. But if it were to happen, I'm sure that I would be very good at confusing people's minds and persuading them that I'm right.

I digress. I was telling you about the overwhelming, busy, work-filled, tiring first week of seventh year that I have just emerged from. I really don't know where to begin. I mean, it's not as if the first few lessons weren't a bit of a doss, to be honest – lectures about the importance of this last year of school from McGonagall, Slughorn and Flitwick, not to mention Babbling in Ancient Runes, Beery in Herbology, and Merrythought in Defence against the Dark Arts. Seriously dudes (note to self, start referring to teachers with more appropriate titles, i.e. 'professors' instead of 'dudes'), what is the use in wasting an entire lesson giving a speech about not wasting time this year? The logic in that is pretty near non-existent. Despite letting us off easy in the first few lessons – all we had to do was to sit through the same lecture numerous times, which, although monotonous, was certainly not hard work – the aforementioned professors soon piled on the work. In one week, I managed to collect two Runes translations, one spell to perfect for Charms (although I must admit this didn't really apply to me, as I can already do a perfect non-verbal _aguamenti_ charm), an essay for Transfiguration, two roles of parchment on how best to defeat _Inferi_ for Defence against the Dark Arts, and thirty four pages of reading up on the '_draught of living death_' in preparation for Monday's Potions lesson. And that isn't even touching upon the work that I had to do during the week.

I tell you, I don't know how I'm going to manage this year if the workload stays this high – what with my Head Girl duties, Slughorn's 'Slug Club' dinners, and managing to stay nourished and rested…

We – that is to say, James and I – had to meet with Dumbledore on Tuesday night to discuss our Head duties. As expected, he went over our responsibilities as regards prefects – we have to organise meetings with them, supervise them in their duties, and arrange rounds of the castle on weeknights. He also went into how we are expected to set a good example for the younger years, to be ready to offer any of them advise at any time, to be a source of aid to any teachers who may require it (i.e. the incompetent ones – I'm predicting Trelawney, and Kettleburn). We arranged for the first prefects' meeting to take place next Wednesday night – something that I must remember, so that I'm not left with a stack of homework to do afterwards. This is all very interesting, I'm sure. But the main point I'm heading for in recounting all of this is what happened at the end of the meeting… Dumbledore turned to me and James, and looked us each in the eye with that piercing stare of his. Then he said, and I quote (if the fact that I can remember word for word what he said doesn't tell you how surprised I was to hear it, I don't know what will), "I know that the two of you aren't bosom friends. No, we teachers are not nearly as ignorant of the dynamics of the student body as you pupils seem to think," his blue eyes twinkled in response to our surprised expressions. "But you have both been chosen by the staff as Head Boy and Girl. Not just separately, but also as a team. Yes, we think that you will cooperate well. So I ask you to try to get along, and to do your best. Now off you go, I daresay you have a few pieces of homework to complete before you catch your forty winks."

I know weird, right? But not nearly as weird as what happened afterwards. James and I shared the first decent conversation that we have had together in… Well, ever. It was nothing profound, nothing deep or life changing, but still, it was a conversation. I had been dreading the time after that meeting since I got the scroll tied with crimson ribbon informing me of when and where the meeting would take place. Awkward silence as we walked together back to the Heads' common room was the best outcome I could possible dream up, but in reality, when we had chatted amiably about our summers, we walked the remaining distance in companionable silence. Maybe Dumbledore's not as off his rocker as he appears – he might just have some sense under that silver hair… Possibly, it might be feasible that conceivably James and I might just be able to get along. Perhaps.

I mean, if it hadn't been for Christine Turner, we might have had another decent conversation last night. Julie and I were sat in the Heads' common room, because it's much quieter in here than it is in the Gryffindor common room (when it hasn't been commandeered by the Marauders, that is), doing a Herbology assignment. It was perfectly nice, with the fire was crackling, and our quills scratching away (I love that feeling of not being rushed, but steadily working through some work – you're satisfied because you know you're doing the work properly, not too fast, but not slacking off). And then my heart sank as I heard the door open. But it was just James on his own – no rowdy Marauders in tow, no Christine attached to him. He simply nodded to us, walked over to his school bag, got out some parchment and a quill, and continued what looked like a reasonable-length essay. After a while, Julie left to go to dinner, but I wanted to finish my essay first, so I stayed working in amiable silence with James. Then he pushed away his work and stretched. "Coming to dinner, Ev- Lily?" He corrected his use of my surname, which coincided with a strange feeling in my stomach – to be fair, it was getting on for eight thirty, and I hadn't eaten since lunchtime. I nodded, and we began to walk towards the Great Hall. We were discussing McGonagall's latest essay, which was what he had been working on, it turned out, when suddenly Christine Turner comes sloping along the corridor. She immediately interrupts our conversation, engaging his lips with some altogether different activity, and then pulled herself away from him for long enough to murmur, "Coming to the common room, Jamie?" Jamie. Jamie is not his name – Jamie is the name of a spoilt three-year-old boy, not a tall seventeen-year-old. But he didn't seem to notice that his 'girlfriend' had just got his name wrong, but instead he followed her, saying over his shoulder as an afterthought, "See you later, Evans."

Obviously this doesn't bode well for us – us working together as a team of Heads, that is. No matter, I won't give up that easily. But first I need to have some girl-time with Alice and Julie – it is Friday night, after all, and I've hardly had the spare time to see them properly this week. So wish me luck – with the piles of homework waiting for me tomorrow morning, and with cooperating with James.

**A.N.: **Record timing on updating – two chapters within as many hours, I think. In my opinion, that deserved some praise. *Hint, hint*. This chapter's longer than the others have been – do you prefer them longer or shorter? You know how to let me know, don't you? That's right, that little button down there that says 'review this story'. Go on, you know you want to.

-Kat253ox


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